


crash into you

by ninemoons42



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, First Time, Getting Together, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rogue One - some of them live, just an excuse to get them into bed, my favorite kind of pwp, shameless and sappy, so not really a mission fic, the plot is more hole than plot, they fuck and then they cuddle, valentine's day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9718091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: With all the missions he's been running in the aftermath of Scarif and the retreat of the Empire, when is Cassian ever going to find the time to fall in love, get laid, and cuddle, not necessarily in that order?Apparently the answer to that question is Jyn.





	

The holdout blaster is a cold lump just behind Cassian’s hip, small and hard and digging into his skin and bone, and he’s grateful that it’s there, grateful that he’d taken it with him, because this was supposed to be nothing more than a simple surveillance run in a city full of fireworks and couples strolling hand-in-hand but it’s now turned into a complicated sort of footrace, because the paths are built up and down and across a series of steep hills.

He’s winded. The sharp stitch in his side pulls even more painfully with every labored breath. The collars of his formal tunic chafe against his skin. The shoes on his feet, new ones he’d bought to blend in here, pinch at toe and heel. 

He runs anyway because that’s what he’s trained to do, and the target is still within sight, and blessedly slowed down by the amorphous mass of beings milling around and smiling.

He’d look up at the sky if he had the chance, because this world is renowned for its clear skies at night, but he’s busy, and also he needs to look out for the other half of this operation, the one he’s herding the target towards -- he racks his brains for the map of this sector of the city, tries to remember if he’s heading for the right alley and the right shadowed corner and -- 

A panicked shout ahead. 

Cassian swears softly, skids toward the mouth of a very narrow road that turns into a blind corner, and stops dead in his tracks.

The first thing he sees and hears is the target, down on the ground, clutching at its leg and howling in pain.

The second -- the one his eyes linger on -- is the shape of Jyn, who is a single taut line of readiness from her planted feet to her slanted shoulders, all leading up to the line of the club in her hands. Wound up and ready to strike again if she needs to. There is just enough light to illuminate the cool contempt in her eyes and the insolent tilt of her mouth.

He still has a mission to think of: he draws his blaster. Points it at the target. “I have him,” he says, softly. 

“Right.” Jyn lays down her club with incongruous care, and then she gets down on one knee on the cobbled road, and her hands move toward the male humanoid’s pockets.

Cassian’s mouth goes dry for some reason, watching her work their target over, and he blames it on the expectation of finding what they came for. 

Movement in the shadows next to Jyn’s foot. 

Cassian doesn’t hesitate: he fires a warning shot into the stones.

She doesn’t flinch. Just grunts and keeps frisking.

The male humanoid whimpers when she pulls a small shape out of his pocket. Holds it aloft for a moment. “This is what we came here for,” she says, dryly.

Cassian shrugs. “It’s still something the higher-ups can act on.”

“Whatever.”

He watches as Jyn tilts her head towards her shoulder. As she unwinds a length of rope from somewhere on her person and quickly, ruthlessly, ties up their target. 

Again Cassian has to look away and tell himself that he’s only riding the momentary high of a small victory.

He blinks when someone raises a shout behind him, and he whirls, blaster at the ready: but all he sees are beings in pairs, suddenly crowding into the nearest open space. Clouds of lantern-light allow him to see smiles and happy expressions. Everyone is looking upwards.

So he does, too.

And the clear night sky full of distant cold pinpoints of light is lit up by a bright broad streak of bright blue: a meteor of some sort.

No sooner has the glow of that first streak faded away than there’s suddenly another, and another, and another -- and then he realizes he’s staring up into a meteor shower, into a cascade of blue streaks.

Warmth at his side. The presence of Jyn is heralded by the brush of her shoulder against his, the sweet smoky smell of whatever she uses to wash her hair, the click of her boot heels on the stones.

He glances at her, and it’s a perfunctory glance at first, just to check if she’s unharmed -- but she’s oblivious to him. The meteors hold her full attention. Their fleeting blue lights cast soft shadows onto the new smile that she’s wearing: a smile that Cassian thinks might look like wonder, like memory, like something fragile and good.

Everything else about Jyn is the exact opposite of fragile: he knows about the scars crisscrossing her knuckles and the scars on the sides of her hands; he knows about the hard lines of determination that seem to be permanently etched into the corners of her eyes. 

His hand aches where it’s brushing her skin.

The blue streaks in the sky fade: but the crowd that is just out of reach is still laughing, still looking up, still rapt.

Pale green flash, weaving a curving path through the sky, waves upon waves of it.

That light catches on Jyn’s shoulders, on the curve of her throat, bared by the dress that she’s had to wear to blend in on this world and in this city, and he has to clench his hands into fists. Has to look away.

Has to admit that he -- he wants her.

Truth be told, he’s been drawn to her practically from the first moment of their meeting -- and all the things they’ve said and done since then have only intensified his feelings. All the hard words and all the long nights and all the blank silences. All the moments of her warmth next to him, even in the midst of enemy fire. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but they’re tangled into knots and won’t come out even when he blows out a quiet breath.

So when there’s a sudden warm weight wrapping itself around his hand, he has to look down in order to understand what’s going on.

Funny that he doesn’t feel like he needs to pull away, to go defensive, to become wary.

That’s before he clocks that it’s Jyn’s hand, gentle around his, holding on so carefully.

He stares, and gulps, and squeezes her hand.

She laughs, very quietly.

But when he glances up again she’s still staring up at the green lights dancing across the sky.

He dares to press his side into hers, and she doesn’t protest: she does the exact opposite. She steps closer, too, and now they’re touching in a line of warmth, shoulder and elbow and hip and foot.

He says her name.

She’s not smiling, when she meets his eyes. She’s looking at him.

He feels like she might be looking into him. He’s not uncomfortable at all. He wants her to keep looking.

“As long as you look at me, too,” she says, and that’s when he realizes that he said that last part out loud, and that -- that sounds like freedom.

“I -- I can’t stop looking at you,” he says.

“I don’t mind.”

Reflections of green light play in her eyes, and -- he turns away from the sky. Turns toward her. Dares to brush the fingertips of his free hand against her shoulder.

Jyn takes that hand, too, gripping him by his wrist, moving his fingers to her face. 

He can feel the raised lines of old scars crisscrossing her jaw. The warmth of her skin. The silky softness of her hair.

He’s lost for words, and he can only say her name again: “Jyn.”

“Cassian,” she says, and she steps closer. He takes a deep breath that’s filled with her -- and then she’s coming closer, closer, and he has to fight the urge to close his eyes because he doesn’t want to miss the moment when she kisses him. When she brushes her lips very carefully against the corner of his mouth.

He’s following her even before he can actually think -- he bends down to her, just a little, and kisses her back, still looking into her eyes, and that’s how he sees the curve of her smile in the moment before he makes contact.

That first kiss had seared through him and now this one -- this one makes him feel light-headed.

“Come on,” Jyn says.

He follows her as she weaves a sure-footed path through happy murmurs, through beings pointing up at the sky, through splashes of lantern-light, and he doesn’t question that she takes the shortest path through the throngs, straight back to his tiny rooms. Four walls in rough-cut stone, all the irregular pieces and edges carefully fitted together so no stray cold wind or dust could get through; two thick mattresses set directly onto the polished floor; a heap of colorful blankets; a single lantern in the nearest corner, throwing off a flickering golden light. His battered rucksack in the corner.

She’s here in this space and it’s far too small to contain the multitudes and complexities of her, and yet -- and yet she smiles, and toes off her shoes, and pulls off the light shawl that she had draped around her shoulders. Holds her hand out to him again. “You’re afraid.”

He tells her the truth. “Yes. Because I -- I want this, I want you, and anything could happen.”

“And knowing us, that anything could mean everything bad,” she says. Downcast eyes, but only for a moment. “I stopped counting the number of times I’ve almost died shortly after Saw left me behind.”

“I lost count when I turned ten.”

Soft broken laugh. “It’s not exactly a galaxy at peace,” Jyn says. 

“And yet you’re here,” he says, and he -- he likes being this honest, but only with her. He thinks she might be able to understand. He thinks he might be able to understand her, and what makes her put up with him. 

“With you.”

He’s shocked yet again. Simple words, and still more than enough to knock him over.

“With you,” he echoes, and he sits on the bed. Pats the space next to him, half an invitation and half a plea. “Jyn.”

“Cassian.” She’s said his name any number of times, and now she says it with such strange gentleness.

“May I?” He asks. He has to ask. 

She nods.

He can’t believe his luck.

He also thinks he’ll lose her at any moment. Wake up from the dream and find himself alone, shivering in nothing but his own skin.

He kisses her, careful and slow and wanting to learn -- and when she laughs quietly against his mouth, when she takes over and kisses him like she wants to steal away all of his secrets, he can’t help but chuckle, too.

“What do you want,” she murmurs against his cheek, as they catch their breaths.

“I’ll show you,” he says. He promises. “I’ll tell you.”

The smile that he gets in response is slow-dawning and precious and he kisses at the edges of it, wants to taste it for himself.

He shifts under her hands as she peels away his clothes.

When it’s his turn to help her undress, he takes his time: he traces the edges of the flush on her skin. He skates around the edges of the long raised scar running down her back, a remnant of her time with the Partisans, of healing without bacta. He kisses the bruise that is a remnant of the scuffle she’d gotten into on her first day here. He traces the arch of her foot and the curve of her knee. He mouths at the soft swell of her breasts, runs his tongue around one nipple and then the other.

He leaves kisses in his wake everywhere he goes.

“This is what you like?” she asks, the words tangled in quiet laughter and the squirm of her body. He must have hit a ticklish spot.

“I like you,” he says, simply.

He runs his fingertips down the curve of her belly, around the dip of her navel. Stops just shy of her mound. Down, and he skims around the edges of the secret core of her. 

She bites her lip. Smiles.

He takes that as a signal, as a yes, and he gently pushes her knees apart. She is flushed and she is breathing hard. She groans when he touches her, tentatively at first and then -- as she throws her head back and whines -- with more and more confidence. He hooks his fingers this way and that within her. His name falls from her lips, pleading.

Just before she reaches her peak, Jyn is a tight curve of need, closed eyes and clenched fists and pointed toes. Her mouth hangs wet and open.

It makes him press an open-mouthed kiss to her hip. Makes him murmur, “Show me.”

Lost in her release, he still hears her sigh out his name. 

He’s stroking her gently down from her high when she levers herself up onto her elbows. “Come here.”

He groans, quietly, when she kisses him -- when she winds her fingers into his hair and pulls.

He can’t get enough of her kisses, nor of the heat that she radiates in her fingertips and the palms of her hands, and he shakes beneath her touch, presses to get closer.

“You feel good,” she whispers against his cheek.

“Good,” he stammers back.

“Do you want to be on top?”

“Whatever you want.”

She laughs, but not unkindly, and she kisses him before maneuvering him onto his back.

He blinks up at her, at her flushed ears and the strands of hair stuck to her cheeks, and he traces the edges of her grin with his thumb -- and then she sucks it into her mouth, making him groan and pull her back down into a kiss.

“Make up your mind,” Jyn laughs, and any reply he wants to make is drowned out in the way she grasps at him, in the way she lines him up, in the way she sinks carefully onto him. 

The rest of his words flee him in the sweetly overwhelming press of her, in the way she rocks onto him.

He grasps her hips and hopes for restraint -- but when she says his name, when she pleads for him, it all falls away and there’s nothing left but the desperate thrust and roll of his body, the mad need to get closer and impossibly closer to her.

“Please, please,” and the soft words are a sweet lash against his skin.

And then she freezes for a long moment. 

Her hands fly to his wrists and hold on, nearly tight enough to bruise, and he can feel her ride out the shock of her climax, and he needs needs needs to move within her again, so he does, when she says his name again, two broken syllables: “Cassian.”

He whites out for a long, long moment.

She’s still there, still above him, when he comes back to himself.

She’s smiling at him, only a little sharp around the edges. “Should take that as a compliment.”

It takes him a moment to gather enough of his wits to respond. “It is.”

She laughs, and he laughs with her.

When she pulls away from him he feels bereft -- but only for a moment, because she’s tucking herself into his side. Because she’s slinging her arm over his stomach. Because she’s pressing her nose and her mouth against his chest.

“How soon do we have to leave?”

That’s when he mourns. He would have wanted to stay in this moment with her.

He makes himself answer: “They’ll be looking for us if we don’t come back in the next day or two.”

Silence, and the quiet rasp of her breathing.

Then: “Let them look for us. ’M fine right here.”

Cassian blinks.

Looks down at Jyn in his arms.

Whispers: “Can I hold you?”

“As long as you stay in this bed with me.”

“I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy February 14, all. (Even though it IS past midnight in my part of the world already.)
> 
> I am also on tumblr [@ninemoons42](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/)!


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